


The Fall From Grace Was the Hardest Part

by brieflybe



Series: Run for the Hills Before They Burn [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, F/M, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:26:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23681569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brieflybe/pseuds/brieflybe
Summary: “Is Baz around?” as politely as he can manage, through gritted teeth. He knows that Baz is not around - that if Baz was around, he’d be at the door already, preventing this conversation from happening, dragging Simon away. He wishes that Baz was around.“I’ve murdered him,” Fiona tells Simon immediately. “But misplaced his body. Help me find it?” Her smile is wide, showing her straight, white teeth. Baz never mocks with a smile this wide. She lacks decorum.“Actually, I think I’ll just go and wait eighteen years for the Visitation, if that’s all the same to you.”~Simon's looking for Baz. Things escalate.
Relationships: Penelope Bunce/Shepard, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Run for the Hills Before They Burn [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695757
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Miss Atomic Bomb by the Killers.

_Cause everything - it must belong somewhere.  
They locked the devil in the basement; threw God up into the air.  
Everything - it must belong somewhere.  
And you know it's true - I wish you'd leave me here.  
You know it's true - why don't you leave me here? _

\- I Must Belong Somewhere / Bright Eyes 

  
  


**He’s not fit for Uni.** He’s not good at it, and he doesn’t care all that much. About any academic subject, that is - in the world. From Geology to Ancient Egypt, from Computer Science to Law, he just doesn’t give a fuck. Until he finally attends a module, that is. Then he starts to resent it. He despised rocks now. And Charles Dikens, with his stupid orphan boys ( _Please sir,_ _May I have some more_? Is a spell meant to conjure food, and Simon could never get it right, and Simon will never be enough of an idiot to _ask_ , and fuck this), he despises all of them. He had no choice but to leave Uni, really, before he’s educated into hating everything that Baz and Penny love. He had no choice but to leave Uni, because he couldn't leave his flat anymore. He had no choice but to leave Uni, because he didn’t deserve to be there, and he had to leave something, had to rid something of him. 

Penny wants him to go back. _You’re better now, Simon. You can do this, Simon. You’re smarter than you think, Simon._ _You’ll need a degree to get on in life, Simon._ He feels - terrible. About living in her flat rent-free. About having no plans of ever earning enough money to stop. About having no job, and no goals, and no knowledge of English literature. About fooling her into thinking that she was doing a good thing all these years, by helping him.

Y _ou just need to get out of the house a little, Simon_ \- she tells him. Why, though? For whatever purpose? It won’t change anything, and he doesn’t want to. He feels like a fainting princess - ready to collapse at the prick of a needle. He feels like a pile of bricks, too heavy to be carried around. It’s the only compromise he’s currently capable of, however, and Baz isn’t around, and Shepard might be (Simon likes him well enough, but his presence is making him itchy. His intentions, that is. To insert himself where he doesn’t belong), soon, so out he goes. 

Penny and Baz have managed to charm Penny’s bell to work for Simon, but it burns out - like a mage. Too many rounds per day and Simon will run the thing dry, and Baz and Penny will have to pour more of their magick into it, to recharge the thing. Simon feels so guilty he could puke. He feels so relieved, that he could float away. 

He goes to the park, for a run (he doesn’t mean for it to be a run, most of the time - he just ends up running), and he goes to the store, and ends up buying only an umbrella because he keeps forgetting his, and by the time he’s leaving, tired and empty-handed, it’s always pouring - always. And he goes to see Baz, sometimes, provided that he looks okay, that he’s washed his hair properly. He doesn’t want Baz’s mates - does Baz even have any mates? Baz acts as if the life he held before his relationship with Simon was a placeholder for - well, something. Well, in case he does have some friends, Simon doesn’t want them to think Baz is dating beneath him, and he doesn’t want them not to know that he exists. He compromises by washing his hair with Penny’s Shampoo and wearing actual jeans. 

He goes - well, he just goes sometimes. He doesn’t take flight, even though he wants to, and he doesn’t fight any Goblins even though they’re there - somewhere, and he doesn’t go back to Nico’s bar to ask around, to find out why, because it doesn’t matter, and he’ll get bitten, and then he’ll have to live forever when he barely manages to live in this moment, right now. 

Right now, Penny is having a conversation with him, or at least she thinks that she does, she’s mostly - talking, and Simon can’t bear to listen, sometimes. He’s only ever been obsessed with the one thing. He doesn’t really get her, going on and on and on about wanting to strangle a person who isn’t Baz, and why he has to spell it out for her, and why did she need another cursed Normal to save, when she already has Simon. Simon was justifiably obsessed with Baz, is the point. He’s not sure what Penny is doing right now, to be honest. 

“All I’m saying is that he seems more interested in his research - which is basically stalking, than in finding a cure for his - “ she swallows, “problem. I took him to England so that he could set himself right and get out of my hair, not so he could write his own version of An Interview with a Vampire.”

Simon hums. “I thought Dr. Wellbelove is researching a cure?” 

“Yes, okay, but you should see him Simon -”

“I do see him -”

“It’s as if he’s content to just be here and follow us around until he dies,” she runs her hands through her hair, which is currently sporadically purple. “And we’re supposed to just, what, accommodate that? And wait for him to die?” 

Simon shrugs. “You could always catch a musical.” 

“This isn’t funny, Simon.” She snaps at him. “And you’re not even trying to help.” 

Simon blinks at her. “How am I supposed to help?” 

“You know you didn’t actually solve any of our problems with magic, most of the time.” She’s said it before. 

He gets up. “Sure.” He takes his Tail Bell (Shephard’s responsible for that one) off the coffee table, ringing it once, then carries on to grab his jacket. 

“Where are you going?” They’re always worried, when he leaves. They’re always worried, when he doesn’t. He can’t be trusted, is the thing. It’s not as if he can just be told to do something, and then do it right. 

“You said that I should get out more.” He tells her. 

“I didn’t mean leave now, Simon, in the moddle of a conversation with me,” Penny tells him, like Simon didn’t know that, like there was any other way to stop her talking. Simon just wanted to startle her, really, to get back at her for… something. Besides, Simon is already on his way out, and Simon’s actions are nothing but inertia, at this point. He can’t stop, once he started - anything, really ( _unless_ , a Baz-like voice drawls inside his head, _what you’ve started is making-out with me_ ). 

“Gonna go see Baz,” he mumbles. He looks down at himself. He’s wearing trackies, but there is nothing to be done about this now. 

“Okay,” Penny tells him. She sounds upset. She’s mostly upset, lately. Like now that she’s stumbled across the cracks in her armor she can’t not see them, she can’t not find new ones. 

Shephard was the one to tell them he’d love to see Hamilton. Penny had won the lottery for the musical the following week, by some suspicious miracle, and then made Baz purchase tickets for both Simon and himself, once she’d realized she got herself a date with another Cursed American Boy. She can’t seem to stop committing felonies now, once she’s started. Like she has to prove herself that it’s okay, and the law is truly beneath her, and she hasn’t done anything wrong. 

She’s not convinced, and Simon - well, he doesn’t have enough ground to offer comfort, on these matters, and Baz is already knees-deep in Simon’s shit, and Agatha just doesn’t understand other people, and Shephard is the reason Penny’s committing crimes to get Hamilton tickets, so is inherently unhelpful through no fault of his own, so - there ya go. ( _How does a bastard, orphan, son of a-_ Scratch that, never mind. He’s not a son of anything, and that’s not the point). (He’s not going to rise above his station, is the point. He’s not about to defy expectations).(He’s the kid public money is spent on, he’s the creature magick is wasted upon, and he’ll always need that sort of aid, and he’ll always be left wanting more). ( - and he will never, ever have any parents). ;oo0 

Simon, however, is already out the door. Before he can think any of this through. 

Baz is staying ay his aunt, still. She’s mostly evil, but she’s also mostly away, and while thinking too deeply about her can still make Simon grind his teeth, he doesn’t have to interact with her very often (she honestly wanted to murder him, is the thing. She wasn’t secretly in love with him, or secretly an echo of the void he’s opened in the world while sucking too much magick. She truly, unrepentantly wanted him dead) (She was convinced that Baz was making fun when he’d told her. Baz dragging Simon into the room and kissing him did not help. Eventually, it was Simon not going away that did her in. Like, this might be some horrible joke, but it’s here to stay, and she has to adjust accordingly. That mostly meant threatening to off Simon whenever she saw him, before disappearing to off some other abominations. Her words, not his). 

That is to say, he maintains that not expecting her to open the door even as he appears unannounced at her own apartment does not make him an idiot. He was thinking about Baz, mostly. About his cold fingers and cool smile, and about how nice it would be to see him, and about how he doesn’t have classes today. He was also thinking that this is a Thursday, but clearly, he was wrong. He accepts that this is a mistake that an idiot would do. At least Baz is not around to see it. 

“Well, well.” Fiona drawls, dark hair framing her face like a storm. It’s like the Pitches were taught to start sentences like supervillains. They can never just say “hello”. “Chosen One.”

Simon shrugs. “I was impeached,” he reminds her. It doesn’t matter though. It’s not as if she means Chosen One as a compliment. 

“Fancy seeing you here.”

“I’m dating your nephew,” he snaps back. “He lives here.” Shepard once told them that if Baz ever wants to marry him, all he has to do is send someone to oppose the marriage, like in American sitcoms. Baz snarled back that Simon will duel his family members, as is customary - which has been news. And also, that Shepard doesn’t fucking know them - which Simon agreed with. Point is, Simon would love to duel Fiona. She deserves it, losing to a Normal. She deserves to lose, period. 

When she seems content to just stand there, staring him down like some gargoyle, he adds, “Is Baz around?” as politely as he can manage, through gritted teeth. He knows that Baz is not around - that if Baz was around, he’d be at the door already, preventing this conversation from happening, dragging Simon away. He wishes that Baz was around. 

“I’ve murdered him,” Fiona tells Simon immediately. “But misplaced his body. Help me find it?” Her smile is wide, showing her straight, white teeth. Baz never mocks with a smile this wide. She lacks decorum. 

“Actually, I think I’ll just go and wait eighteen years for the Visitation, if that’s all the same to you.” He answers, voice flat. He wished he wasn’t so angry at the sight of her. She’s a miserable, lonely human being, but then again, so is Simon, so surely it’s okay to hate her. It’s a terrible, sticky feeling, this hatred, like soot pilling up inside his lungs. Simon’s always feeling like this. Like his brain is a warning on a carton of cigarettes. 

She snorts. “Heard you were knocked out of the sky,” she tells him, her eyes sharp, her smile - also sharp.

“Were you worried?” he snaps back. His palms are clenched into fists. He wishes that he had a sword, just because. 

“My nephew was extremely distressed about it.” She sounds bored, like Baz losing a person he - _cares about_ is al the same to her. He knows that she has feelings. That she must have had them, in the past. He wonders how she’d feel, if Baz would have stayed in Vegas, to spend his immortal life feeling superior and feasting on human beings whilst wearing dramatic suits. He’d tell her that it was a near thing, but he’s not a snitch.

“I’m sorry about Nicodemus,” he tells her instead. 

He knows immediately that he’s crossed a line, but that’s fine. He’d meant to. Her expression turns into steel. Fire appears in the palm of her hand. “You disfigured little shit.” she spits out, “You’re truly the lowest the Pitches has ever gone.”

Simon smiles sunnily at her. He’s about to open and mouth and say - something, about her being lucky that he can’t go off anymore, or something, when he notices - the way she’s holding herself, leaning on her side, the grimace that crosses her face when she makes a sharp movement, like when she lit her palm on fire in order to threaten her nephew’s boyfriend. “You wounded?” he asks. He’s not worried - mostly just curious. Plus Baz shouldn’t stay at the same house as her, if she's bleeding. 

“Go fuck yourself,” is her answer. 

“Was it Numpties?” he asks. “I know your sort has a problem with Numpties.”

There is a dangerous glint in her eyes, when she speaks. “It was vampires, chosen one. I hunt vampires for a living.” 

“Like Buffy,” Simon offers. There’s a loud crack, and Simon just barely dodges when a large lightbulb falls from the ceiling into the ground. 

Fiona, on her part, goes on, unperturbed. “Seven of them. Was low on fuel and they outnumbered me. It’s not shameful to admit defeat you know,” she adds, “for example, when you have not a drop of magic in you and vampires shoot you and your ridiculous wings and you crush into the earth and die.” 

“I didn’t die,” Simon reminds her. 

“Yeah, but you should have died,” she tilts her head to the side. She’s holding onto the doorframe now, almost leaning against it. “No human is able to survive a fall like that, with bullet wounds no less, and then just skip right back to England on a Goddamn airplane.” 

“Baz and Penny healed me.” He says carefully. But he knows that she’s right, that the healing spells weren’t nearly enough to cure what he’s been through. That he fell off the goddamn sky and then got up and went on fighting. He shudders. 

“Anyway,” Fiona says, and she appears to be done with him. “Don’t you worry about the vampires, Baz went to take care of it.”

The world stops, for a moment. Two moments. Three. “ _What_?”

She shrugs, as if she’s not evil, as if she didn’t just send her dead sister’s only son to fight vampires without any back-up. Simon is a giant, horrible mess of a person, and he’s only got one thing in his entire stupid life, and she’s going to take him away, she’s sent him away - 

“Oi, will you relax? You look like you’re about to combust. He offered, I was about to go back out there, went back to the flat for ammunition, he insisted to go instead. Claimed that he very recently learned how to infiltrate vampire gangs.”

“And you let him?”

“If my nephew wishes to self-destruct by murdering the Undead, that’s on him.” She runs her hand through her long hair. Her nails are long, and painted purple. 

It doesn’t make any sense. “You’re lying. You wouldn’t have let him go.”

She shrugs. 

Simon growls. 

"Where,” he asks slowly, voice clipped, “is Baz?” 


	2. Chapter 2

He’d let her cast “nothing to see here” before leaving, that is - he’s demanded the spell, and she relented, and now his stomach lurches, and his skin shimmers, and her magick makes you feel as burning alive at the stake probably would, and all he wants is Baz, all he’s ever wanted is Baz, and he doesn’t care whether he’s caught flying around London looking for him - not really, but he doesn’t want to be shot out of the sky either. 

He doesn’t want Baz near vampires. He doesn’t want Baz near anything bad, he barely wants Baz to be near him, but vampires are a whole other matter (he used to wonder, what’s the point of being human, when there are Goblins and Vampires and Mages and Dragons and all sort of creatures that defy human existence, that just go on existing, despite not being supposed to). (Like, are you not basically an animal, if you can’t transform anything with your mind and your boyfriend’s kind is meant to literally eat you?). (He doesn’t think about it anymore). 

He’s taken a sword, too, a nice one, a real one - not like the ones in the fair, and a lighter, because he’s lost his, and a cross, since his old one was damaging to his relationship for a number of reasons, and now he’s flying above London like bloody Peter Pan, with a dagger at his hip and no parents at his actual literal tail, and he wishes - 

He’s afraid of -

He wants - 

He doesn’t know. He used to have lists for all those things. He wishes for the air not to be as cold, and he wishes for his old sword to be back, and he wishes that they were at Watford, where Baz was always within his reach. It’s different, to travel via the sky, like you’re slicing through time. Like you can find your old self somewhere underneath you. Like you’ll land in some distant piece of future, when you’re already too late. 

He lands somewhere in East Shoreditch not long after he’s left, however, and greeted with a graffiti of Carl Fredricksen holding on to silver balloons that spell the words: Up Yours, which, you know, might as well. 

Then he enters the coordinates given to him by Fiona to google maps, and starts marching at the direction of - well, hopefully, Baz (“I’m sure he hasn’t left you for Edward Cullen yet,” Fiona drawled, when obviously that’s not the point, the point is that Baz is in danger). It’s about ten minutes’ walk, and Simon is running like a lunatic. He thinks about Agatha, trapped inside a well that’s slowly filling with water, and how Simon knew that he could save her, then. How miserably they failed, in America. He wonders if Baz even needs saving, and even if he does, what good would Simon do, all by himself, and should he have called Penny, or even Agatha, or - 

He’s been looking around, for what it’s worth. When he’s jumped, he almost sees it coming. 

Funny thing is, he doesn’t realize it’s a trap until Baz calls him. He doesn’t answer, of course. He’s a bit preoccupied at the moment, or at least his hands are, with his sword (Fiona’s sword), and the guts of a Goblin, and he wouldn’t check his phone during a fight, except that he’s worried about Baz, was hoping for Baz to call, and he does manage to accept the call, does manage to hear the start of “Where in Merlin’s name are you, you Numptie, Penny says you left the apartment?” before his phone is knocked to the ground, and his reply is cut off, and he doesn’t get to answer. He’s glad he’s not actually fighting any Numpties (which is generally unlikely). He’s glad that Baz is okay. 

He’s glad, as he pulls out his (Fiona’s) sword before swinging her (it) towards a particularly sharp-looking Goblin, his hair pulled back in a ponytail and wearing a blazer that he might have seen on Baz last week (from All Saints), finally manages a hit instead of a stab, which wasn’t what he was going for, but he’s willing to settle. He’s angry, is the thing. And he wants to get home. And he wants to see Baz while not drench in Goblin blood, since that’s a mood-killer (for Baz, at least), and he wants – oh, it hardly matters. There are three of them, and he’s already offed one and a half, and he’s pretty sure the third is mostly trying to hit on him, in the sense that the rock he’s thrown at Simon was wrapped with a note that had an Insta URL on it. 

He wishes it was a better fight, really. There are far more danger and suspense in arguing with Baz about dinner (though that says more about Baz than about the Goblins) and while he’s not sure there’s a substantive difference between past battles and current ones, there’s less heroism to him, in him - like even if he’s won, he hadn’t earned it. (And should victory be earned? And are his battles all about him? Is he really the point? As a chosen one, he was the point. Right now - he feels like a superhero on a trial for collateral damage).

Mostly, he wishes he didn’t fall into this trap so easily - like Baz was the one lying to him. He grabs at the last Goblin standing (he’s got the best hair - Simon sort of… wants it) by the collar of his jacket and yells: “Do you have Baz Pitch?” So naturally, it kicks Simon in the nuts and tries to strangle him while his body folds in on itself. This is exactly how Simon would feel, after falling for one of Baz’s scams. It’s uncanny. It’s… whatever. He ends up stabbing the thing. 

He looks around. Just dead bodies, and himself. 

He sighs. He stuffs Fiona’s dagger back into his belt. He decided that since he’s lost the ability to disintegrate his enemies, Fiona is going to be on the clean-up crew for this one. He finds his phone, and picks it up. Five missed calls from Baz. He sighs. He pockets his phone, and takes flight. He doesn’t mean for his tail to hit two of the bodies on his way up - it just does. 

He doesn’t bother with hiding his wings when he lands at Fiona’s. As far as he’s concerned if the World of Mages is exposed tonight, that’s on her. Plus, his right wing is bleeding (he was either slashed or stabbed, he can’t see for himself, and he doesn’t always feel it right away, when his wings are damaged on the ground. He’s mostly feeling the pain when he’s in the air, and then he’s - not, anymore). He’s superstitious about magicking them away when there’s a damage - like they’re going to come back worse, like he’s going to bleed to death without realizing). 

He’s wider than the door, when it’s opened. He came from above, like an air-strike. Baz is not impressed by any of this. “You’re dodging my calls,” he tells Simon. His expression changes then - probably he smells blood. Baz is always impressed by blood. 

“Your aunt is trying to kill me,” Simon tells him. “Again,” he adds, as an afterthought. 

“Oh dear,” Baz drawls. “Is she plotting?” Except that he’s searching Simon for injuries - with eyes and nose and forced flippancy, and for all of their miscommunication Simon knows this - Baz is almost constantly worried about him. 

“You know, I think that she is,” he shoots back. ”It’s all very 2016. You could almost call my near-death by Goblins vintage.” 

Baz tilts his head to the side, hair covering his right eye, the side of his grimace. “You weren’t in any real danger.” He says, carefully. 

Simon rolls his eyes. His wing is bleeding sludge on the doormat.

“I’ll show you real danger,” Baz tells him then, before turning back inside, and honest-to-Merlin screaming “FIONA, what the actual fuck, I’m going to burn this fucking apartment to the ground and you will have to live in Daphne’s guest-room and sleep on a floral bedspread. FIONA.”

He’s cupping fire with his right hand, light dancing across his face. Simon wonders if that was even intentional. Like, whether Baz has fire coming out of him, the way Simon’s got his wings. He wonders why all the vampires in his life are so determined to play with fire and burn the world and burn themselves and die. “You’re flammable.” He says. “Baz, come on - turn that off - you’re not a goddamn firebender -” 

That’s when Fiona yells, from deep inside the flat, “Tell him I mistook vampires for Goblins, and you with my imaginary friend Bob.” 

“Fiona, I will burn this place to the ground. I am not fucking around.” 

“No you won’t,” Fiona counters, finally exiting a room Simon assumes is her bedroom, wearing a pair of shorts and tattered t-shirt of a band Simon doesn’t recognize, her wild around her face. “Chosen One is here.” 

Baz’s smile is sharp, and cold. It’s not ugly, as such, because beautiful people don't stop being beautiful when they’re being jerks. It’s just… mean. “Your concern is touching. Don’t worry, I’ll tell him to leave. He needs to be alone in his flat to provide me with an alibi later.”

Fiona stretches, all long, elegant limbs, before making her way into the kitchen, settling with her back against the counter. “You’re being dramatic,” she tells Baz, and Simon can tell that this conversation is useless, he can tell that Fiona thinks that this is funny. Baz used to have the same look, whenever Simon lost it. He used to have the same look, right up until Simon went off. Baz can still go off, though. Baz can burn everything. “I have an early meeting tomorrow, is all. Thought I send him to deal with the disturbance and tuck in early.”

“You told me you sent Baz to do it.” 

Fiona snorts. “Of course I didn’t send Baz to do it.” 

“He’s a Normal,” Baz snarls. His face is twisted. He probably doesn’t mean to insult Simon. Probably. “You can’t just send him away to off some dark creature.”

“Oi,” Simon cuts in. “They were only Goblins.” 

“See?” Fiona replies. “They were only Goblins.” She turns her sharp smile at Simon. “Are they dead?” 

Simon shrugs. “I guess.” 

“You guess?” Baz repeats, incredulous. “You guess they're dead?” 

Simon shrugs again. His head is mostly white noise, at the moment. He used to feel like this while reporting to the Mage. Like, he was asked: “Is it done?” and he couldn’t tell what it was, or whether it was done. He could barely remember who he was, and why he was standing there. 

“I mean, yeah. One of them gave me his phone number but I don’t think he’s waiting for a call? Since he’s dead, and all.” 

“Excuse me?” Baz seems outraged. 

Fiona is cackling. 

“I’m not hurt,” he finishes. 

“You are literally bleeding on my aunt’s hardwood floor.”

“You were going to burn your aunt’s hardwood floor.” Simon reminds him.

“Well, I’m family, I’m allowed!” he spits at Simon, before turning back to said aunt. “Now, you listen to me, you are not going to kill my boyfriend.”

She cocks her head to the side. “But I’m family.” Her smile features all of her teeth. “I’m allowed.” 

Simon opens his mouth to interject, but Baz turns on him. “And you, are you a fucking idiot?” Baz is pointing at him, fire gone from his palm, eyes wild. “You know I can’t watch you all the time. Not falling for the most obvious lie ever told is really the least that you can do, don’t you think? As a precaution?” 

“Well why would your aunt be trying to murder your boyfriend? Don’t you think that reflects more on you then it is about me?” He’s raising his voice. Or, more likely, is voice is already raised. Inside of his head, he’s practically screaming. 

“How do you now I was even trying to murder the boy? All of this,” she gestures around them with her hand, “could be entirely innocent.”

“No, it fucking can’t,” Baz and Simon say at the exact same time. That’s the first time ever, he thinks, for this to happen. 

“It was an audition.” 

Baz snorts. 

“To see if I can make the boy a job offer.” 

Simon has had it. “Fuck you,” Simon is yelling right now, outside of his head. It never feels as good as he hopes it will. “Fuck you, this isn’t funny.” 

So of course, she laughs. 

“Fuck you.” He repeats. “I killed all of them, so go fuck yourself -”

“That’s all you can say?” She’s laughing, still. “You’re like a broken tape recorder.” 

“Well, you would know!” he snaps. 

Baz flinches. 

Fiona does not. 

“I survived everything you threw at me. Everything. Your nephew was the one to fuck everything up, guess he wasn’t trying hard enough with anything he did, I know for a fact that he likes my voice, so -”

“That’s disgusting,” Fiona tells him evenly. 

“I’ll have you know I was able to do magic without it -” 

“Snow, stop talking, she’s your enemy -”

“I don’t want to be enemies with your aunt, that’s psychotic -” His heart is hammering in his chest like he’s going to, like he’s going to - can Normals go off? Can he just explode? 

Fiona shrugs. “I’m not his enemy, I just offered him honest work. He is unemployed, isn’t he?” 

“Stop,” Baz tells her, voice made of steel. “Stop saying that. Don’t ever say that again.”

“I could work for her if I wanted to,” Simon protests. It’s really is the principle of the thing. The fact that she doesn’t want him here, in her space, next to her nephew, on this earth. The fact that Baz thinks that he’s going to be shot out of the sky by fucking Goblins. 

“Fantastic,” Fiona drawls. “I’ll see you Mond -”

“No!” Baz snaps. Like, he snaps. He marches to Simon and grabs at his arm with more force than he usually allows himself (usually, he’s not necessarily allowed to take Simon’s arm, but that’s another matter). “No, both of you are the worst people that ever happened to me. Shut up.” He’s raking his hand through his hair. “Snow, to my room.” He starts pulling. Simon has the distinct feeling that if he wasn’t already cooperating, he’d be dragged across the floor. “You -” he points at Fiona, like there’s a wand in his hand (there isn’t), “It’s not really my fault that your ex set himself on fire, now is it?” 

Then Simon is in another room, the door closing behind them.


End file.
